Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders. Cat Stevens owns "Wild World."

Now that I've lost everything to you

You say you want to start something new

And it's breaking my heart you're leaving

Baby, I'm grieving

December 26, 1966

The sun was barely kissing the horizon, the sky still dark with only a touch of light beginning to make any sort of appearance. Ella opened her eyes, her bedroom ceiling entering her view, and pulled the sheet tighter around herself as she wondered what time it was. She felt tired, and she was grateful that she didn't have to go into work that day, thank goodness. Then again, Ella had been having a lot of thoughts about her job at the laundromat, as well as her decision regarding college. She still had to talk to Dally about some things, but the two of them hardly had any time to be together as of late. Thinking about her boyfriend caused Ella to turn her head, finding the space beside herself empty. Dallas had spent the night with her after a rather fun-filled day at the Curtis's place. Well, Ella hadn't really been feeling any excitement for Christmas, but everyone being together was nice. Ponyboy had invited her, and she knew that he was mostly trying to be polite—he didn't want her to be alone. Ella appreciated the gesture, and she was glad she had a friend like Ponyboy. Dallas had picked her up around noon, and the two of them had spent the majority of the day there, before heading back to her house.

Sitting up, the girl climbed out of bed, draping a robe around her petite frame to shield her from the cool air. She squinted a little at the light blanket of snow that just covered the road outside, a smile barely touching her lips. Ella enjoyed the Winter season, even though it was too cold, but she liked to spend her evenings curled up with a mug of hot chocolate while finding peace around the Christmas décor, not that she had done any decorating that year. But still, Ponyboy and his brothers, as well as their friends, hadn't seemed to have lost the holiday spirit, and in all that excitement, Ella had found a pang of relief by relaxing for the first time in what seemed like forever.

She found Dallas seated outside on the small deck, his body perched on the rail, his back pressed into one of the beams. He looked rather content where he was, and Ella wondered if she ought to disturb him. He was leisurely smoking a cigarette, eyes half slit, and for a moment, the girl could almost see him being at peace, nothing around to disrupt him from his thoughts. Unfortunately, Ella found that her own concept was short lived, for Dallas had spotted her watching him, brows raising ever so little as he took her figure in. He had assumed that she was still sleeping, and really, he had no intentions of waking her up. He hadn't been up that long anyway, and if anything, he probably would have went back to bed for a little while before heading out to check on his horses. He figured Buck was taking care of things with his cousin or whoever, but he still wanted to check on them. Glory, he remembered the last time he was there, the day he had decided to read some more of Ponyboy's book. He had only made it halfway through chapter eleven, before he stopped, a part of him unsure if he really wanted to finish the story at all.

Ella sent him a small smile from where she stood, eyes void of any emotion. He sucked on his cancer stick, motioning her out with his free hand. She seemed to somewhat perk at the gesture, her arms instantaneously enveloping her middle as she stepped outside. She made her way over to where he was seated, teeth chattering lightly as she leaned beside him, his one arm maneuvering itself around her shoulders in an attempt to warm her up some.

"When did you get up?" she asked, her voice soft, the pitch low. Her head pressed into his chest, arms clinging tighter around her trembling frame. "I didn't even hear you."

Dallas exhaled, his fingers pressing a little into her delicate skin. "Not long ago." A shrug. "Had to take a—" He paused, knowing that she was already looking up at him with a slight frown. He made a face before rolling his eyes, wondering why he even gave shit to use what Ella deemed as "polite terms" anyway, because any other time, he wouldn't. "I had to use the bathroom." He shook his head, stubbing out the rest of the cigarette and pulling away from her as he stood up. "Jesus," he said, nose wrinkling as he glanced down at her. "You look like you're about to freeze."

"It's chilly," came the rapid response, but a small smile touched her lips. It didn't last long, though, as Ella's thoughts were drifting elsewhere. Just looking at Dallas stirred up what she was trying to put off, what she wanted to hold out on, but she knew that she couldn't. "You want some breakfast?" she asked instead, chest clamping a little.

The blond looked at her sideways for a second, noticing the pressed tone of her voice. "Sure." The two of them headed inside, Dallas following behind Ella, the warmer air a wonderful welcome. Dallas moved to sit at the table, brow quirking as Ella got to work on making pancake batter. There was something on her mind, that much he could tell, and he wondered what it was. Hell, she had been acting a bit differently—not that he could really blame her—for the last few days, but it wasn't really a swift change, but rather, a more subtle one. "What'd you wanna talk about?" he'd inquired, recalling her saying something about wanting to discuss something with him the other night.

She froze for a split second, milk carton in hand, eyes widening. She was slightly surprised that Dallas was bringing this up now, but then again, he had never been one to procrastinate. Ella wasn't ready to have this particular conversation now, but she knew that time was growing shorter and shorter, and even though there were a lot of things she wanted to go over, she didn't think now was the right time to do so. Oh, but Dallas wouldn't quit bugging her about it until she caved and started talking, so the girl figured that now was the best opportunity to bring up what she had been avoiding all along.

A sigh. "Well," she began, a strange sound in her voice, "I wanted to talk about me . . . and college."

At that, Dallas gave her an odd look. "What about it?" he questioned, more like grumbled, not really expecting that to be the topic. To be honest, Dallas hardly thought about Ella and that college in New York, and truthfully, he really didn't want to discuss it. But he could remember a time when he had practically preached to her about getting the fuck out of that town, about doing something with herself that he would never be able to. Yeah, he could remember that quite clearly, even in his hungover state of mind. Glory. "You gonna go or what?"

Ella's lips pursed, and she was unsure of how to break the news to him that she had already called and officially enrolled. She would be leaving January sixth to make the drive to New York, to Berkeley, where she would start her first class in the following weeks. She had went over everything with Jan a few days back, deciding that she would take some time to (somewhat) establish herself with a job and get to know the area. She had also decided that she would be storing her mother's possessions and other belongings of her own in storage in Tulsa for the time she was away. She would have to get a job in New York, but there was no way that she could make the payments on the house in Tulsa—her mother's house—so she was putting it up. Even on her own, Ella couldn't make it, there was just no way. Even with what her mother had left her—though it was enough to get by for a while—Ella would never be able to make it in the long run.

Her shoulders slumped as she stirred the pancake batter. "I—" she started to say, but froze when the telephone rang. She wondered who in the hell was calling so early, but figured that it might be Jan. She was good for calling at odd hours, even if just to check in. "Hello?" Her face scrunched for a second, and then relaxed. "Hi, Jan . . ."

Seated at the table, Dallas stared straight ahead at the kitchen counter, wondering when Ella was ever going to clean up the pile of glass shards from that broken mug, whatever they were going to discuss forgotten in the background.

Ponyboy simply couldn't believe it, he just couldn't. His focus was no longer fixated on the letter in his hands, but elsewhere, somewhere distant. Hell, he couldn't understand for the life of himself why his brother hadn't said anything about being drafted. What was he thinking? Did he think he could hide it from him and Darry? Ponyboy felt his breathing becoming heavier, ragged, and in his own frustration over what he had just learned, he felt his eyes prickling with tears, which only made him more irked with the situation. He hadn't been snooping through Soda's stuff, having found the letter on accident, well sort of. Okay, so it wasn't . . . completely an accident, so to speak, but it was— Ponyboy shook his head, nose scrunching. Soda had told him he could borrow his sweater, for the younger teen's clothes were getting too small on him, especially through the shoulders. Glory, but his shirts, including the ones he'd gotten from both Darry and Soda, were beginning to stretch through the neck because he was hardly able to fit his shoulders in right. Good Lord. Anyway, he had found a sweater tossed on Soda's bed that he liked enough to borrow, but when he'd grabbed it, he noticed a slightly wrinkled envelope on the floor beside the night table, the stamp of Selective Service System peaking out from the side.

Ponyboy's curiosity had been far too great, and without a moment's worth of hesitation, he had bent down and swiped the letter up, reaching inside and pulling out the two letters—one for a physical examination, and the other for an induction—and he knew, he knew exactly why Soda had been acting so strangely. Maybe nobody else seemed to notice, but Ponyboy had. Even after the rumble, in his bleary state of mind, Ponyboy had been able to detect that something was off with his brother. His grin no longer reached his eyes, his appetite had lessened, and most importantly, he had been quiet. What Soda didn't know was that Ponyboy had also discovered that he had been smoking, a habit that he had never really picked up on. Oh, sure, Soda had done lots of things before, but smoking just wasn't a hobby of his—not regularly at least. So when Ponyboy had saw him smoking late at night on the porch, the smoke billowing out in a trail in front of him, he knew that his assumptions were correct, and now he knew the reason why. Still, even with the letter in hand, the situation was surreal to him, and he found that he couldn't bring himself to believe it.

Just imagining Sodapop somewhere out there, fighting in a war, made Ponyboy feel sick, vile rising to his throat and threatening to spill out of his mouth. He didn't even want to think about Soda like that, didn't want to picture him in uniform wielding a gun, the look of sheer ferocity lingering in his brown eyes, eyes that should be lively and dancing, eyes that should belong to his brother—only they wouldn't be his, and Soda would no longer be . . . Soda.

"Ponyboy?"

The teen jerked around, clearly startled. "Soda," he said, but his brother's name had been said with a tone of accusation, the anger that Ponyboy had been feeling resurfacing. "Why—" he started, trying to keep his tears at bay. "Why didn't you . . . tell us? Me and Darry? Why?"

And when Soda saw the draft letter in his kid brother's hand, his face softened, a look of defeat taking over his features. He knew that he would have to tell both Darry and Ponyboy soon, but he hadn't expected it to be this soon—especially the day after Christmas. A sour feeling formed in his gut, but he rapidly rid himself of it, deciding that he ought to talk to Ponyboy calmly. Besides, he knew that his younger brother was still sensitive and easily got upset, and this . . . this was something he wasn't even sure he knew how to explain to him.

"Ponyboy," he began, and rubbed the back of his head. "Listen to me." He moved inside the bedroom, taking a seat on the bed, expression firm—a look that didn't suit him. "Sit down and let me explain things to you, savvy?"

The fifteen year old wasn't sure that he wanted to hear Soda's explanation, though, but if he ran out of there, he would appear childish and immature, and that was the last thing he wanted. Golly, but Soda was drafted, and if anything, Ponyboy knew that this was harder on him than it was on anyone, even he and Darry. No, Ponyboy wasn't going to run off, even if he was feeling a little bitter and put off. He owed it to his brother to listen to what he had to say—after all, he had only come across the letter by chance, not because it was presented to him. He sat down beside Soda, flipping that godforsaken thing back and forth in his hands, waiting for him to speak.

"I was gonna tell you and Darry," Soda said, voice mellow. "I just didn't want it to be now, and not like this." He turned a little so that he was facing Ponyboy. "I know it seems like I was . . . hiding it from y'all, Pone, but that ain't it, you hear?" He was earnest looking.

Ponyboy, though, ground his teeth. "Isn't there a way—"

"No." There was a bite in his tone, a sharp sound, as he cut his brother off. But then his shoulders seemed to deflate as he leaned forward, elbows pressing into his knees. "Hell, Pony, I thought about leaving to get away, but . . . damn, I ain't a coward, man. That ain't me." He shook his head. "Maybe I was dumb when it came to school, but . . . maybe this is something I can do." His kid brother was looking at him as if he had suddenly sprouted two heads, and Soda figured he sounded like a lunatic. "Ponyboy, just listen to me for a second, okay? There ain't a way out of this, and . . . Hell, I don't want to go, I don't, but I think I'd hate myself if I was too much of a blasted coward and ran off." Internally, he could see his father looking back at him, his brown eyes proud. "When I'm gone, Ponyboy, I need you to keep an eye on Darry, yeah? He's gonna take this mighty hard, and you're gonna have to look out for him." His voice had softened immensely, and Ponyboy was almost afraid to look at him, afraid that he would see his brother crying. "'Cause, Ponyboy . . . Darry . . . he's got a lot on his shoulders, and well, someone's gotta be his Superman."

Ponyboy could feel his bottom lip trembling. "Soda—"

But the older teen had tossed his arm around his brother's shoulders, pulling him in close as he sniffled a little. "We'll get through this, Ponyboy. I promise I'll come back. You gotta believe that for me . . . you got to." And Steve, he thought to himself, but he wasn't going to share the fact that Steve had enlisted to anyone, not yet. "Can you do that, Pony? Can you do that for me?"

"Yeah, sure, Soda," came the muffled answer, tears falling down his cheeks.

Soda nodded, fingers pressing into his shoulders. He would tell Darry soon, but right now wasn't the time. He knew deep in his heart that his older brother was going to try his best to keep himself strong, but Soda also knew that Darry had been under a lot of pressure, and though he had a stony countenance and exterior, he still was only human. And now he and Ponyboy were going to have to count on each other until he came home. They would have to. It was the only way. And Soda would have to count on them to believe that he would come back.

"Alright," he said, patting Pony's arm. "I think that's enough bawling for one day, yeah?" He chuckled a little. "We can't have two bawl babies after all."

Ponyboy laughed lightly, wiping at his dampened cheeks. "No, but we do have three."

Ella felt a strange kind of relief. Though there was a small part of her that felt bittersweet over the fact that she was no longer an employee at the laundromat, the girl did feel as if a weight had slipped off of her shoulders. She was supposed to come into work for a few hours Wednesday and Friday that week, and even though Ginger had been sympathetic about her mother passing, she hadn't been lenient about letting her go. Unfortunately, for Ginger that is—as she was only the assistant manager—Mrs. Walker had decided to let the teen go. She had thanked her for her hard work and dedication, and even went as far as to tell her that she would always have a job so long as she (Mrs. Walker) was in charge. Ella had only meant to inform them that she would be leaving on the sixth, eleven days from then. She had apologized for the short notice, but Mrs. Walker had been absolutely fine with it, merely letting Ella go and saying that the girl could probably use the extra time to take care of what she needed to. Because of her good work ethic and skills, despite what Ginger had said, Mrs. Walker had paid the girl for the following week, promising to mail her her pay stub.

While that was great and all, Ella just felt . . . strange. It was as if she were leaving everything behind to go to New York, almost as if she was cutting ties in order to start something new. But she wanted this, she had chosen it, or so she had told herself. There was a lot on her plate, and even though Ella had told herself that she was making hasty decisions, she reminded herself that it was all for the best. In the end, she didn't want to be stuck in Tulsa all her life, didn't want to experience a dull life without any type of satisfaction or fulfillment. No, Ella yearned for more, longed to make something of herself, and if New York—Berkeley—was the answer to that, then she was going to go. So lost in her thoughts was she that Ella didn't even hear the voice of Angela Shepard calling out to her, and she was only jostled from them when she was met with a flick on the shoulder.

Angela was staring back at her intently. "Earth to Ella," she said in a snippy tone. "I've been calling you for the past minute or so."

The older girl's cheeks tinted a little. "I didn't even hear you," she admitted. "I was thinking."

Rolling her eyes, Angela crossed her arms beneath her chest. "Right. Well, how've you been? I ain't seen you around in quite some time." A short chuckle fell from her lips. "You know, it's funny, I was actually thinkin' about you the other day." At Ella's raised brow, Angela merely continued. "Tim was talkin' to Dallas or somethin', asked him if he was still seeing you, and I remembered when you and me went to that party back in the Summer."

Ella could have snorted. Oh, she remembered that alright, but not quite the way Angela was relaying it to her. No, Ella had shown up there to meet with Angela, although going was against her moral code and better judgment. She hadn't wanted to go in the first place, but she decided that her life could do with a little excitement and went ahead anyway. Hell, she could recall Angela's brother Curly trying to put the moves on her, and while it hadn't made her feel too hot then, she hardly could feel bugged by it now. But Dallas had come to her aid, even though she wasn't looking for any, having been far too drunk to care about anything, and then he had driven her home. She remembered asking him what his favorite color was, and he had thought she was out of it. But he had answered her, telling her that he liked a night blue, like a midnight sky. The memory brought a slight smile to the teen's lips, and even though those events had only taken place a short time ago, to Ella it felt like it was in the distant past.

"I remember," she decided to say.

Angela lit up a cigarette, a bounce to her step. "So what have you been doin' with yourself?"

A shrug. "Nothing really, taking care of things." She thought about Dallas at the stables a half hour from them, and decided that it wouldn't hurt to tell Angela the news. "I'm leaving in a little over week," she admitted. "I'm going to Berkeley."

For a split second, one so short Ella thought that she might have imagined it, Angela looked jealous. It wasn't an angry expression, but it was bitter. The younger teen wasn't directing any dislike toward Ella herself, but she didn't think she had a chance in hell of ever making it out of that town, a place she so desperately despised. Ella was one of the lucky ones, she figured, she was going somewhere because she was academically smart and used her head where it counted. But on the other hand, Ella also didn't have two brothers who took pleasure in being thugs, prided themselves based on their rap sheets. No, Ella had it better, and because she had it better, she was going to always be better off. Angela wasn't envious of that, but she was bitter over the fact that she had nothing going for herself, and at the rate she was going, she most likely never would. Good things just didn't come for people like her, and she had been well aware of that from a young age.

"Well good for you," she replied, inhaling deeply, expression apathetic. "I hope you find whatever it is you're lookin' for out there."

Steve hadn't been sure how to spring the news about his enlistment to Evie, so he had simply told her, came right out with it. First, she had been utterly shocked over the fact that Soda had been drafted, a look of sheer surprise plastering her face, and when he had told her what he'd done, she could only look at him with a perplexed expression. He could tell that she didn't believe him, not at first she didn't. Either that or her brain just hadn't processed what he'd said. But Steve couldn't hold the news from her, he just couldn't bring himself to, so when he had gone and got his papers, filled them out and everything, he had decided to immediately divulge everything to his girlfriend. He thought about Soda keeping his draft a secret from his brothers and Mary, wondering how he was dealing with it. As the days passed on, Soda had only grown more withdrawn, and Steve knew that things were starting to take a toll on him, just as they were Steve.

"You . . ." Evie bit her lip, bringing a hand up to her head. "Steve."

She couldn't bring herself to say anything, and for a moment, Steve felt incredibly selfish. Evie had lost their baby, and now he was making the choice to leave her to fight alongside his best buddy. When the thought had first crossed his mind, it didn't seem like a selfish idea, but Steve, in all his eagerness to support his friend, had forgotten about the other people in his life, like Evie. And maybe that was the most selfish and uncaring thing he'd done as of late. Evie was frozen beside him, seemingly almost petrified in her seat. Her eyes were big and wide, and he could tell that a million thoughts were racing through her mind. He brought a hand up to his face, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to think of something to say. He wanted to assure Evie that he would be okay, but hell, he didn't want to make any promises that he couldn't keep—and that was the reality of it.

Evie sucked in a breath, expression forlorn. "Why didn't you say anything to me, Steve?" She shook her head, turning to face him. The next words out of her mouth were low and soft, gentle even. "I love you, Steve."

"I love you, too, Evie," he replied, sounding as honest as he looked. "None of this changes how I feel about you, babe." Damn, he needed a cigarette. "It ain't that, Evie. You know how I feel about ya." And she did, he knew that she did. He could feel his heart beating hardly, the tension in the car so thick that one could cut it with a knife. Steve drummed his fingers on his lap, wishing more than anything that he could have just stopped and rewound the past several weeks; he needed some normalcy again. "I didn't enlist because—"

But she cut him off, tone sharp. "I know why you enlisted, Steve." She licked her lips, pressing her head back against the seat. "I know that you wouldn't be able to let Soda go into this alone. Y'all are . . . best friends, I get that. I've always known that, and hell, I ain't gonna sit here and give you the third degree . . ." Her words were almost venomous to the dark-haired boy, but what she had said was also the truth. She wasn't jealous, nor was she angry. "I just wish you would have talked to me about it first, told me about Soda." Her gaze drifted out the windshield, the scenery darkening ahead. "Maybe then it wouldn't be such a shock."

"Hell, Evie," Steve said, sighing. "I'm sorry."

But apologizing to her didn't stop the ache in her chest, and it certainly didn't ease her conscious. And though there was ultimately nothing to forgive, for Evie at least, both of them knew that saying sorry would never make up for anything if Steve never made it home, because Evie was already dying inside.

For as loud as it was in the roadhouse, Ella could only hear silence. Even as a few guys came over to chat with Dallas, she was deaf to the noise around her. It was late, and the place was awfully rowdy for a Monday night—then again, it was also the day after Christmas. Ella never imagined that she would be spending the day after a holiday in a rundown bar. Nevertheless, the girl was almost thankful for the company, that way she didn't feel so alone. Usually, being around Dallas made her feel better, secure, but on this particular night, she was anything but. She was ready to lay her cards out on the table, what she was about to tell him causing a dreadful feeling to swarm in the very pit of her gut.

She sipped her drink slowly, a distant look lurking across her pale face. Glancing up at her boyfriend, she could almost admire the way he held himself. There was so much character in his hard face, so much pride, and behind those icy blue irises, Ella could see so many emotions flickering just beneath the glacier oasis. Dallas Winston wasn't the type of guy Ella got lost in, but he had been able to make her feel so many different things, brought her out of her shell. Ella had always been reserved and quiet, introverted and shy, and while those traits still existed inside of her, she did feel like another person when she was with Dallas, and that was the person she had found that she wanted to be. It wasn't just who she was capable of being in general, but Dallas had opened another side of her, the side she had always been afraid of delving into and bringing out into the light. She shook her head, though, brought out of her thoughts as Dallas's glass hit the table. Her gaze flashed up to his, and she stilled.

"Bored or somethin'?"

She could have chuckled if she weren't feeling so . . . blah. "No, just thinking," came the answer, and the corner of her mouth twitched. "I have a lot on my mind."

The blond wanted to roll his eyes. "Oh, yeah?" He wasn't really interested, slightly irked that she had hardly said a word to him all night. He had told her about his day—only because she had inquired—he had even mentioned Ponyboy's book, and he had offered to take her out for a drink or two, which was why they (she, really) was at Buck's in the first place. He nearly rolled his eyes, but he figured Ella wasn't going to say anything unless he pried. "Care to share, sweets?"

Ella shrugged. "Well, I was going to talk to you this morning—"

"Yeah, yeah," he interrupted, lighting a cigarette. "About Berkeley or whatever." His tone was cool, his expression aloof. "What about it?"

"I enrolled . . . officially."

Dallas took a drag of his cancer stick, eyes narrowing just a little. "And?"

Now she looked nervous, fingers beginning to twiddle in her lap. Dallas merely stared at her, waiting for a response. Hell, he didn't know what he was expecting her to say, didn't really care what it was to be quite honest. Or maybe he did, somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind. But Ella only sat quiet and still for a minute or so, her countenance reflecting uncertainty. The towheaded teen could only wonder what was bugging her—hell, he'd known for a while about her acceptance at Berkeley, they'd had conversations about her going, but he had long tossed it aside, remembering how Ella once told him that she wanted to forget about it, forget about making any decisions until it was time. That day seemed like forever ago, and Dallas figured that—with everything they had been through—maybe it was. But still . . . Ella had relayed that she was officially enrolled, that she would be attending after all. It seemed surreal to him, and he was surprised that she hadn't said anything to him at all about it, even though he had told her to go months back. Well, Jesus Christ.

Ella bit her lip. "Well, I leave January sixth." She took a nervous breath, eyes anywhere but on his own, brows lacing together. "I quit the laundromat, and—"

"Hold up," he bit out, flicking his ashes in the ashtray. "You leave when?"

"Next Friday."

It was Dally's turn to express disbelief, uncertainty. He swore awhile, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he did, eyes turning stony. Well, he wasn't pissed at Ella, but now . . . he was fucking annoyed with her. Christ almighty, but how long ago had she made this decision? He told himself that he didn't care none, that Ella could do whatever the fuck she wanted without any interference from him, and that was the truth . . . whether he liked it or not. He had plans of his own to get the fuck out of that town once he was able to, and as far as he was concerned, those plans of his never involved Ella. His nose wrinkled at the thought, but he blew off whatever feeling was lingering throughout his body.

"Well, ain't that fantastic," he said, sarcasm dripping with every word. "So, what?" he asked, voice becoming hard. "You driving there or somethin'?"

And that's where Ella broke into her elaborate plans of how she was going to pack up her mother's house in the next few days, put their belongings in storage—though not without help, of course—and then she would take care of anything else that needed to be taken care of, like putting the house up on the market, and then she would leave. Just like that. Jan Clarke, her former co-worker at the grocery store, had helped her concoct this plan, and told her how to go about things to set it in motion. Dallas listened to the girl drone on, becoming more surprised by the second. Honestly, he just couldn't bring himself to really believe it, couldn't bring himself to accept the fact that Ella was leaving in . . . eleven or so days? Holy shit.

She trailed on, though, seemingly oblivious to his souring mood. ". . . but I really wanted to talk to you about . . . us." The last word was said with hesitation, Ella's voice softening a bit. "I don't reckon that a . . . long distance relationship—"

Before she could finish what she was going to say, Dallas cut the cord. His voice was bitter and icy as he spoke, eyes lethal as anger crept through his veins. Hell, he didn't know why in the fuck he was angry in the first place. Or was he? Ella looked more emotionless, as if she had prepped herself for this conversation with him, and fuck, maybe she had. But there was a sadness in her eyes, a deep rooted gloomy expression surfacing and reflecting back at him. Her lips were turned into a frown, but she still remained firm, determined to see her plans through.

Dallas exhaled hardly. "Do whatever it is you gotta do, Ella," he said. "I don't care." He leaned back in the seat, tipping his chin back as he took a swig of alcohol, the liquid burning his throat. "I told you once that I don't plan on stickin' around this place, so if you're leavin' anyway . . ." He left the sentence dangling, but Ella understood.

"Dallas—" There was a silent sob bubbling in her throat.

He looked her over once, taking in the pained expression on her face, but ignored it. "Look, just take care of yourself out there, dig?"

A nod, because that's all she could manage to do. Her heart was thudding hardly in her chest, her hands becoming clammy as the seconds passed by. Dallas didn't wait for her to say anything, either, instead making his way up the stairs and leaving her there by herself. Ella held back the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks as she sniffled. She stood up, maneuvering herself through the crowd of people, and headed for the door. She didn't look back, either, as she climbed into the Impala and drove away, focus on the road ahead as she pulled out of the lot.

Unbeknownst to her, however, Dallas watched her go from the upstairs window, the darkness his only company for the remainder of the night.

But if you want to leave take good care

Hope you make a lot of nice friends out there

But just remember there's a lot of bad and beware

As always, thank you for all of the feedback on this story! It means so much! :3